


Laid Bare

by icedchai



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon Compliant, Dark Humor, M/M, Sadism, Spark Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4114876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedchai/pseuds/icedchai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t terror that flooded Ratchet’s spark, no. What he felt upon seeing his own body lain in front of him—neatly tucked into its alt-mode—was numbness. Cold shock frosted over his spark, leaving him confused as he dumbly attempted to move a limb or transform, half-expecting to see his body rustle to life before him.</p><p>When nothing happened, only then did the terror creep in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laid Bare

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during More Than Meets the Eye #18, and includes some dialogue from it.

“That’s right, Ratchet— _you’re_ in the box!”

It wasn’t terror that flooded Ratchet’s spark, no. What he felt upon seeing his own body lain in front of him—neatly tucked into its alt-mode—was numbness. Cold shock frosted over his spark, leaving him confused as he dumbly attempted to move a limb or transform, half-expecting to see his body rustle to life before him.

When nothing happened, only then did the terror creep in.

He hadn’t thought to keep himself steeled, and he cursed himself for it when he finally tore his gaze off of his body and looked at Pharma. His optics were wide and hungry, and from the look of the maniacal grin on his face, he was gleefully drinking in Ratchet’s horror.

“What’s wrong?” Pharma urged when Ratchet said nothing, “Have I rendered you speechless with the profundity of my accomplishment?”

The petulant tone of Pharma’s voice was all Ratchet needed to swiftly gather what he could of his senses. His expression settled into a practiced look of indifference.

“Still trying to impress me, Pharma?” he replied, “We’re not at the academy anymore, you needn’t try so hard.” The twist of contempt in Pharma’s face was deeply satisfying.

But the satisfaction was short-lived. Pharma gracefully lifted himself from where he had been crouching, bringing himself to his full height, and advanced towards Ratchet. Perhaps it was a blessing that he had no body with which to betray his dread. A very, _very_ small blessing.

As it stood, Ratchet could barely even move his head. He seemed to have been braced against something—a medical slab. He could only see directly in front of him, and a bit of the medibay in his peripheral. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t even peer down below him.

“Look at you, trying to keep your cool,” Pharma sneered as he approached, “Stoic, impassive Ratchet, right?”

Pharma swooped in suddenly, hands at either side of Ratchet’s head. “It won’t work on me. I know you too well. I know you’re scared. I can see it in every line of your face.”

One of Pharma’s hands slid out of Ratchet’s line of sight. A moment later he felt a tight grip around his spark; Ratchet gasped.

“I can see it in your spark,” Pharma whispered. His voice was soft, intimate. Ratchet could feel his fingers groping at his spark, pressing into the grooves. The tip of Pharma’s finger dipped into the core, only slightly, and that was enough to wrench a strangled noise out of Ratchet. Pharma beamed.

“It’s been so long since you last bared yourself to me,” Pharma murmured, still mere inches away from Ratchet’s face.

He could hardly focus, Pharma molesting his spark the way he was, but he still managed to glare defiantly into those crazed, blue eyes. Seemingly unphased by Ratchet’s open disgust, Pharma’s expression became wistful, optics sweeping across Ratchet’s face before settling on the spark in his hand. “Remember, Ratchet? The old days?”

“I remember,” Ratchet grunted, admittedly distracted, trying in vain to see below his chin. It was so hard to focus on finding a way out of this mess, especially with Pharma tracing his fingertip across the heart of his spark, again and again…

Ratchet wasn’t the only one who was distracted. Pharma looked—dazed, almost, staring down at him. For a moment, his sharp glare had gone altogether, replaced with something more sentimental. For a moment, Pharma looked normal again, like how he’d been before Delphi.

The sound of hissing and clicking startled them both out of their trances. Sparklight seeped from the seams of Pharma’s chest as it attempted to open itself. Pharma jerked away from Ratchet, pressing his hand over his chest to keep it shut. The plating rattled in place for a moment, and then locked.

“No,” Pharma muttered to himself. The moment had gone, and that mad look on his face returned. “No, no, no… this calls for something different.”

Pharma turned his attention back on Ratchet, “This is a _punishment_.”

He descended upon him once more. “Remember how I used to punish you? You were always so naughty, Ratchet, always testing my temper and begging to be ground under my heel.”

“Pharma, enough, I—” A hand circled around his spark again, and the words died in Ratchet’s throat as he attempted to contain a groan. “ _Pharma_.”

“ _Ratchet_.” In an instant, Pharma’s lips were on him, caressing his helm and his chevron. Ratchet offlined his optics as they traced down his cheeks, hovering hesitantly above his mouth. He felt the warmth of Pharma’s shaky vents brush over him. Just as he thought Pharma might pull away, he crushed his mouth against his own in a rough kiss.

When Ratchet refused to respond in kind, Pharma snarled, biting down on his lips to force them open. Clever fingers fondled his spark, sending an intense shiver up Ratchet’s spine and prying a weak sound from his vocalizer. This seemed to appease Pharma; he sucked at Ratchet’s lips and licked into his mouth, and the noises he made were far hotter than they had any right to be.

When Pharma finally broke the kiss, Ratchet was huffing hard. With no ventilation system to cool him down, his temperature was beginning to rise, _fast_. If it were to get any worse, it might damage his brain. And Pharma likely knew that, the bastard.

“You’re positively searing,” Pharma purred as he drew back. His fingers were still toying with Ratchet’s spark, building a charge he knew _must_ be stinging to the touch. Pharma appeared unphased. “I know just the thing that will cool you down.”

Error messages flooded Ratchet’s HUD as it attempted to follow through with protocols it couldn’t.

_ERROR: Failure to initialize cooling system._  
_ERROR: Failure to shutter chest compartment._  
_ERROR: Failure to initialize interfacing equipment._  
_WARNING: Temperature at 15.99% above normal capacity._  
_WARNING: Systems overcharged._

Ratchet groaned. Pharma lifted Ratchet’s spark into view and waited until he had Ratchet’s full attention once more. How infuriating he looked, coyly staring at him the way he was. Ratchet wanted to thrash, wanted to punch Pharma in his stupid, arrogant head.

Pharma pursed his lips and blew cool air over Ratchet’s spark. He grit his teeth and hissed—it was nothing but a tease, hardly aiding his taxed system. Pharma caught his eye and with a mischievous smile, leaned in and closed his mouth over Ratchet’s spark.

“Stop,” Ratchet choked, feeling his temperature climb even higher and his charge build beyond anything remotely pleasurable. Pharma did no such thing, exploring Ratchet’s burning spark with lips and tongue. Perhaps it would be best if he just let Pharma induce an overload. Maybe it would knock him out and he could temporarily be free of this.

As if Pharma had read Ratchet’s mind, he popped his mouth off of Ratchet’s spark. Ratchet moaned weakly, both grateful for the reprieve and hating Pharma for doing this to him in the first place. “That’s—That’s enough, Pharma.”

“Mm, not quite.” Pharma released him, momentarily stepping aside and out of Ratchet’s view. There was a grating noise, and the medical slab he was braced against shifted.

Slowly, Ratchet was tilted back, until he could see nothing but the ceiling and Pharma’s manic grin. Just looking at him made Ratchet feel _weary_. He hoped he’d either be rescued or killed soon. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

“Now, this part I think you’ll like.”

“Pharma, _please_.”

“Hush now.” Pharma hauled himself up onto the slab. “I’m hardly finished with you.”

It took all of Ratchet’s remaining strength to not roll his optics. To _what end_?

Ratchet blearily gazed up at Pharma—he could do little else—as he arranged himself neatly above his head. With a quick snap and a click, Pharma had retracted his modesty plating and interface panel, exposing his prim-looking valve. At least Ratchet could be grateful that Pharma didn’t intend to shove his spike down his throat. His valve glistened a little, revealing his arousal.

Ratchet was suitably unimpressed. Seeing the look on his face, Pharma clicked his tongue and made a pitying noise. “Don’t give me that, you used to love this.”

“You’ve decapitated me. I’m a severed head, Pharma.”

“Think of it as a challenge.”

“You’re _insane_.”

“Shut up and eat me out this instant, or I’ll crush your spark with my bare hands,” Pharma hissed, canting his hips downward.

Ratchet sneered, and only when Pharma started to tremble with fury did he part his lips. Pharma’s rage quickly gave way to satisfaction, and he eagerly pressed his valve to Ratchet’s open mouth.

It had been a long time since he had done this for anyone. In fact, his last interface had been with Pharma, years ago—before he had been deployed to Earth. Still, old habits die hard, and if there was anyone who knew their way around Pharma’s valve, it was Ratchet. He still remembered all the right places Pharma liked to be licked and sucked. He tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in his spark at how easily this came to him, how easy it was to trace his tongue around the tender mesh of Pharma’s valve and slide inside to taste him.

Above him, Pharma groaned and rocked his hips a little. “Yes, that’s it. You haven’t forgotten a thing.”

Ratchet offlined his optics and tuned out Pharma’s babbling, hating him. He hated Pharma for doing this to him, he hated himself for letting this happen to Pharma, and he especially hated the memories and fondness he had once felt rushing back to him all at once. He expressed his resentment by scraping his teeth against Pharma’s anterior node before roughly sucking it into his mouth. Pharma yelped a little at the sensation, jerking above him. “Behave down there!”

Ratchet ignored the admonishment. Pharma could hardly complain; he was leaking like a broken faucet onto Ratchet’s chin and dripping onto the slab below. He had clearly been enjoying Ratchet’s spirited frustrations. Ratchet let him have it, eating him out with fervor.

He couldn’t move, not really, but he didn’t need to with the way Pharma was urgently assaulting his mouth. Charge crackled over his tongue, adding to his own plentiful burden. Ratchet rolled his tongue in time with Pharma’s thrusts, alternating broad laps at his sodden valve and forceful sucks to his node. Soon, Pharma was shaking above him, crying out for purchase.

Pharma’s overload came quick and Ratchet clamped his mouth over his wet valve, sucking hard until Pharma let out a dry sob. He ground arrhythmically against him, drenching Ratchet’s face in lubricant. It didn’t taste bad—in fact it hardly tasted like anything at all. It made one hell of a mess, though.

Finally, Pharma lifted his hips away from Ratchet and sat back on his haunches. His hands clumsily dropped to fondle Ratchet’s chevron. The touch was so familiar that Ratchet forgot himself, moaning a little. When he onlined his optics, Pharma was staring down at him, his own eyes hazy with lust. “Oh Ratchet, _my_ Ratchet…”

Pharma’s eyes were such a beautiful deep blue. Ratchet felt exposed (though in a manner of speaking, he was) under his gaze. He offlined his optics again and hoped everything would just go away. It didn’t.

“Mm, that was nice. Now for the _real_ fun.”

Ratchet turned on his eyes again, opening his mouth to ask what the hell Pharma wanted now, and hadn’t he had enough? But the words died on his tongue as he watched Pharma position himself on the slab, legs spread and three fingers stretching his valve.

“What are you—”

“Do you know what the leader of the Decepticon Justice Division—Tarn—Do you know what Tarn used to do to me when I didn’t meet his t-cog quota, or if I supplied him with a malfunctioning t-cog?” In a matter of moments, Pharma’s face had gone from blissful to deadly serious. It was chilling to see; even more chilling were his words.

“He would order his cronies out of the room, get me alone.” Pharma’s optics flickered as his fingers pressed in deep. “Order me to open my panel for him—I had to listen, you see, it’s his voice—and he’d force as many t-cogs inside of me as he could fit. _T-COGS, RATCHET!_ ”

Ratchet gaped at Pharma in horror, Pharma stared back, his expression positively violent. Why was he telling him this? After a moment, Pharma calmed, moaning a little at his own dextrous touch. “And then he’d make me extract them myself, in front of him. I hated it. I hated him.”

“Pharma—”

“But lately I’ve been wondering,” Pharma said, drawing his fingers out of his valve. He licked his lips as his eyes raked over Ratchet’s face and settled on his spark. “Lately I’ve been wondering what it’s like to have a spark—a live one—in my valve.”

Ratchet felt like his optics were going to pop out of his head. The desire to strike out was overwhelming, but he couldn’t even flail. All he could do was helplessly watch as Pharma inched forward and carefully scooped up his spark. “Pharma, no, please _don’t_ —”

His cries fell on deaf audials. Pharma shifted, experimentally touching Ratchet’s spark to his valve. Immediately, his hips jerked at the sensation, and he gasped out loud. Ratchet felt it too; it was as if the wind was completely knocked out of him. His charge climbed at an alarming rate, causing error messages to flood his HUD. “ _Pharma_ —”

“I’m so pleased you came along. It’s fate. It really is.” Pharma moaned, body twitching as he slowly, methodically began to ease Ratchet’s spark inside of him. Charge crackled between them, the heat and wetness on his spark nigh unbearable. Ratchet yelled, unable to contain just how intense it felt. It was more intimate than anything Ratchet had ever experienced, and yet it was unequivocally the most uncomfortable and disgusting thing he’d ever encountered in his entire life.

“Mm!” Pharma pushed the spark deeper still, almost stuffing it entirely inside of him. Ratchet had hoped his spinal column would have deterred Pharma, but he seemed to be having no trouble maneuvering around it. He could feel Pharma, all around him. He could feel his charge, his energy, his valve spasming around his spark. Ratchet’s optics were as wide as they could get, sparking light. This was beyond pain and pleasure—Ratchet felt if this kept up he would go _mad_.

“You always did have a big spark, Ratchet,” Pharma whined, “Maybe that’s why I wanted you so badly.” He forced the last of his spark inside of him. Ratchet spat static and binary, losing his ability to speak altogether. He couldn’t tell up from down, or whether that _throbbing_ was him or Pharma. It was positively _suffocating_.

Somewhere in the distance, Pharma was wailing from the feeling. Did it feel good? He couldn’t tell. Ratchet’s optics flickered from the intense charge. Is this how he was going to die? With his spark stuffed deep into his crazy ex’s valve? What a way to go.

A sharp sensation suddenly coursed through him, and Ratchet dimly recognized it as an overload before being promptly knocked offline.

 

* * *

 

Ratchet came online with a start, gulping down air. “ _PRIMUS_.” 

“Why, don’t tell me I’ve made a believer out of you.” Pharma grinned at Ratchet from where he was standing over by Ratchet’s lifeless alt-mode. The medical slab was upright again, and from what Ratchet could see (which wasn’t much) Pharma had cleaned up while he was out.

Ratchet stared warily at Pharma. He apparently noticed the lack of fight in him and clicked his tongue, sauntering over. “You seem out of sorts, dear Ratchet. Perhaps I ought to do a check-up.”

In an instant, Pharma’s hand—his _stupid_ hand—transformed into an even stupider set of medical tools. He lifted Ratchet’s spark and prodded gently at the core with a knife. “Can you feel that? Can you feel the— _shhh_ —can you feel the blade against your spark?”

Ratchet just stared on in horror, unable to respond. He could feel it alright, and it was _damn_ painful. But he was more concerned about how nonchalant Pharma was acting. He didn’t seem to even acknowledge what had just transpired.

“Only—you haven’t screamed yet, which makes me wonder how accurately your nervecircuits are reporting the sensation.” Pharma pressed the blade in deeper and Ratchet choked a little. “I’d hate for your brain to be misinformed.”

“Can we talk?” Ratchet strangled out, and Pharma abruptly lifted the blade away from his spark.  “Pharma, can we talk? I’d like that. You and me, eh? You and me, talking into the night. Just like the old days.”

Pharma fixed Ratchet with a wicked smile. “Happy to talk. Happy to listen to the panic in your voice.”


End file.
